Postlude to Loss and Pain
by authoressnebula
Summary: Tag to 4x19, Sam's POV immediately after the fight. "He doesn't even know how he managed to call out to Dean at all."


He doesn't even know how he managed to call out to Dean at all.

There's a pounding in his ears that's slowing gradually, his arms are aching like a bitch, and the feeling of blood sliding down his arms is too much. The drops feel wrong on his oversensitive skin, and it makes him shudder. It's too much, too little to hang on to, too fast, too slow as he falls while laying still.

And he doesn't know if it's because of the lack of demon blood now in his system, or the lack of blood period, but suddenly all he wants is his big brother to take control and be there. To be the Dean Sam had to become since Dean wasn't there to do it himself.

"Sam."

Sam closes his eyes because Dean's there. Even while the rest of the world starts blurring and spinning Dean is steady. He helps Sam to sit up, and the rush of dizziness has him pitching forward, eyes sliding shut. Dean catches his elbows easy, holds him steady until he can do it himself. He manages a thanks despite it all, because Dean's still there. Still helping him stay steady.

Dean gives him a grin that Sam's missed, carefully places soft cloths against the blood still flowing down Sam's arms. They don't add to the oversensitive wrongness, and actually relieve the pain. Sam sighs and lets his eyes drift shut.

"You gonna be okay for a minute?"

Yeah, Sam can do that. He sits upright while Dean leaves to do...something. Something about the ghouls, and the Sam deep inside of him splinters a little more apart at the memory of a brother lost. Didn't even know him, and Adam died before Sam got the chance. Innocent life taken for no real reason, except that he was connected to the Winchester curse.

Normally he'd shove the other Sam further down, trying to keep him from falling apart again. He'd had to, over the summer; self preservation. If he'd stayed that Sam, he would've died, so he'd put that Sam away, and built up a new one. Safer, stronger, better, less attached.

Except now, now he's too tired and too weak, and the other Sam rushes to the surface, and Sam knows all of him, both inner Sam and outer Sam, is about to come undone. He hangs his head and tries to breathe, focusing on the pain of his arms. They hurt like no one's business, and they hadn't even tried to slice open his innards. He'd gotten poked in the side, but nothing too bad.

Nothing like they really did to Adam, and he shuts his eyes tight.

"-my? Whoa, whoa, _whoa_, easy kiddo, I gotcha."

Doesn't even realize he'd lost track of things until he finds Dean up close supporting him, arms tight around him to keep Sam upright. "Sammy?" Dean asks. "You okay to stand? We got a hospital to get to."

Bright, sterile, too much. "No," Sam manages. "Please, no, I..."

And as different as they are, as distanced as they've become, Dean still understands, because he instantly hushes Sam, promising a motel room instead. The anxiety dies away quickly, too quickly, and Sam tries to sit up to tell Dean.

It all flashes. They're stumbling down the stairs outside, Dean's arm almost in a death grip around Sam's middle. He's in the back seat of the Impala, Dean pulling the cloths away from Sam's arms, fear in his eyes. Still in the back seat, Dean's bloody hands curved around Sam's cheeks, saying something with desperation in his voice.

When it all evens out, Sam's in the motel room. Dean's in a chair next to him, face pensive as he gazes across to the window. Sam glances over and finds his brother staring at the sunrise. New day, bright and shining.

He wonders how many sunrises Adam missed since he died, and his eyes burn the way that feels like he won't be able to stop. He turns instead back to Dean, his brother already leaning forward. "Gave me a hell of a scare," Dean says.

"Adam was really our brother," Sam says back, and his throat feels tight. His inner Sam grieves at another loss, his world crumbling a little more, and it's everything Sam has to keep that weak part of himself at bay. As much as it truly hurts to have lost a brother so quickly, he's grateful that it wasn't Dean. It might make him a terrible person, but he doesn't regret it.

Not even when Dean looks at him like he's something wrong, a creature Dean doesn't understand.

But right now, Dean's looking at him like a big brother. "I know," Dean says, softer. "I know. And I know where he is, too." A pause, and then Dean continues, "We'll give him a Winchester funeral."

No one should have to be given a Winchester funeral.

A hand brushes hair away from Sam's eyes, and takes tears with it. Dean doesn't say anything about either. "Try and get some sleep; you lost a lot of blood," he says instead, and that same fear from before flickers across his face.

"You made sure I didn't lose it all," Sam whispers, and Dean refocuses on him. After a moment, he gives a small smile and nods at Sam.

"Always will."

It's what a brother does, and Sam pushes thoughts of Adam out of his mind. He knows that Dean's already done the same. If he thinks about him, he...no. Too much for his inner Sam to deal with.

He wonders if Dean has an inner Dean.

He closes his eyes instead, the dull stinging in his arms not enough to keep him from trying to sleep. His heartbeat is slow and out of his ears, and that'll keep him in sleep for awhile, at least.

When he turns his palm up, Dean's hand takes his without asking, and Sam knows no matter how loud or soft he calls for his brother, Dean'll come for him.

END


End file.
